End of the Year Health Update and Reflection

It’s been a year since I wrote an update/reflection on my health and life. Every time I pick up the phone in the office and the person on the other end sounds surprised to be talking to me, I feel a nudge that I should write something. So here goes.   

If I were to boil down the last year, I’d say the really hard times I experienced following my diagnosis have quieted down. They haven’t gone away completely. The fallout from my illness- damage to my kidneys, heart, and gastro- continues to affect my life. So do a couple of nasty side effects from the chemo treatment plan I was on- neuropathy and osteoporosis. Three years ago my initial condition stripped me down very quickly. My hope and trust in God was unlike any time before. Also, I held on tight to the belief he was listening to your prayers and going to answer them the way I wanted. No guarantees, of course.  I think that’s the path most suffering takes us down, whether it’s physical, mental, emotional, or spiritual. At least temporarily. What I found was once I started feeling better- about 9 months out from my transplant- that I began to drift back to “life as normal,” but not completely.  What kept me in check was my regularly scheduled doctor visits along with blood draws, tests, and appointments to insure the amyloidosis hadn’t returned.  

Beginning in December of last year, Jenny and I started walking daily, sometimes twice a day. In the months leading up to this time my oncologist had weaned me off the last few drugs that helped save my life. Except one. Opium. As a narcotic, my body had grown used to having it every few hours. But, I wanted to get off it. I let my oncologist know what I was doing, but I tapered off a little too quickly. My body didn’t respond well and paid me back with sweats, occasional low-grade fevers, aches and worst of all, insomnia. I started seeing a palliative care expert who helped me taper off more gradually and five months later, my symptoms were gone.   

During this time, Jenny and I continued daily walks, averaging 3 to 4 miles a day. Without her, I doubt I would have kept at it.  Phil Volker, a man I greatly respect, personally inspired me  to move forward in spite of “difficulties.” Living with stage 4 cancer, he too had a walking schedule. We emailed back and forth discussing our treatments and lab reports. We also talked about things related to walking- when, how much, how often, even boot choices for walking in the mud. I loved hearing from him.  He blogged regularly up until the end of his life just two months ago. On his blog, he suggested a 30-minute video, God Speed.  God Speed is the story of an Anglican pastor,  Matt Canlis, who now ministers here in the northwest. He spent 13 years in Scotland ministering in a small, rural parish. When he arrived in Scotland fresh out of seminary, his ambitions were big. They soon ground to a halt. He found that to truly minister in the parish he was assigned, he needed to do so at walking speed, the speed that Jesus moved. Only at this pace he was able to know and be known by members of his parish.  

It takes an hour or more each day for Jenny and I to complete our 3 to 4 miles.  Putting the screens down once or twice a day has helped break (to a point) my attraction/addiction to all things internet. Walking for an extended period of time has helped me appreciate (but not necessarily like) the limitations God has placed on my life.  When I read how Saint Paul lived with a chronic condition which God did not remove in spite of his prayers, his attitude -weakness leading to Christ’s strength, calling it light, momentary in light of eternity-, I “get it,” and don’t “get it” at the same time. Some of those “moments” are hellish and seem to go on forever.   

What has helped me is following and keeping up with the stories people I consider contemporary heroes who are living out their lives in spite of, even because of, the chronic conditions they face daily. A few I think of:  

Pastor Tim Keller- battling pancreatic cancer.  

Joni Tada Erickson- author, speaker and artist who as a quadriplegic is fighting reoccurring cancer and covid. 

Nancy Alcorn (wife of Randy Alcorn) fighting colon cancer, avoiding bitterness and resentfulness.  

Jobje Haneagraaff (sister of Hank Hanegraaff, himself a cancer survivor via a stem cell transplant)   

All of these people “are going through it” while demonstrating a spirit of humbleness and gratefulness. They may be “planning with a pencil” as one of them put it, unsure of what is planned by God, but they are planning and moving forward.  

As my withdrawal symptoms subsided in the spring, a new worry immediately followed. My May lab results revealed a glucose reading of 42. That’s close to a level in which you lose consciousness, enter a coma, and don’t necessarily wake up. After further testing, my oncologist suspected my condition was caused by one or more insulinoma tumors in my pancreas. Insulinomas are rare- 1 to 4 cases per million people per year. This occurrence made my diagnosis of amyloidosis (1 in 100,000) look almost common. 

Additional medical experts got involved to weigh in on my condition. My symptoms, though, weren’t conforming to the typical profile.  I went through tests, labs, imaging, and had a Dexcom inserted a few times to collect data. Opinions were mixed. More testing was urged. Surgical procedures with irreversible and serious side effects were discussed. Scopes, biopsies, and risk were all options under consideration. I reached a point where I didn’t want to move forward with any of it anymore. I was really tired.  Jenny and I decided to go to Mayo and see an endocrinologist and hematologist. At the end of September, the Mayo endocrinologist concluded I had been misdiagnosed. Something was wrong with me, but it wasn’t a tumor.  Cutting me up at this time was not necessary.   

So, I entered this fall with no major health challenges, at least none that I’m aware of.  

I live between living “slow” and “fast.” I find myself slowing down and speeding up, often in the same day. Slow is better. It’s the speed where I have a greater chance of being able to perceive God speaking, of coming to me. It’s easy to miss him when I’m multitasking and intent on “getting a lot done.”   

I like the way Koyama Kosuke, a Japanese writer puts moving slow. He writes,   

Love has its speed. It is a spiritual speed. It is a different kind of speed from the technological speed to which we are accustomed. It goes on in the depth of our life, whether we notice or not, at three miles an hour. It is the speed we walk and therefore the speed the love of God walks. 

Slow is the speed where I can truly ponder the words on a card Jenny gave me on my birthday,  

It’s not what we have in life, but who we have in life that matters. 

Who is in my life?  

My wife Jenny who I literally owe my life to.  

My children and grandchildren. 

My faithful yellow lab, Fortune. 

Friends. 

Doctors. 

Chiefly, Jesus. 

As Augustine said, “Our heart is restless, until it rests in you.” 

Contentment with Godliness is great gain, as 1^st Timothy 6:6 reads. Not just gain, but great gain. 

Thanks for always for reading and praying for me! Merry Christmas! 

Curt Bumcrot